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Dante stares after the pucas, mouth hanging on its hinge. “I’ve never seen something run so fast.”
“Just wait until you see the kelpies.”
His gaze shoots to mine. “Kelpies? You mean those man-eating horses that like to drown their victims before they tear them apart with razor-sharp fangs?”
I grimace because—unlike most other tales about the fae—he isn’t wrong. “Kelpies have a bad reputation, and some do still try to eat people, but they aren’t all monstrous. Some are rather nice. In fact, my sister is good friends with one. She had to feed him a human to gain his trust and admiration. In her defense, the human she fed him was a vile man.”
Dante pales, expression uncertain. “Are you teasing me right now?”
I’m not, only exaggerating slightly, but he doesn’t need to know that. My only response is a tight-lipped smile.
A cheer roars through the stands as the fastest puca crosses the finish line.
Dante tucks his cane under his arm and brings his hands together in polite applause. “Are all the racers fae? I haven’t seen a single rider, only creatures.”
“Yes. All are fae and race on their own without a rider controlling them.”
“I had no idea we weren’t just going to a simple horse race,” he says. “Is there such a thing as a simple horse race on the isle?”
“Hardly. Why bet on horses when you can bet on far faster creatures?”
He furrows his brow and casts a glance around the lawn and stands. “This derby…it’s mostly a human event, isn’t it? Humans watching fae creatures race and betting on the results?”
I nod. “All our dates on this tour are human events.”
He lowers his tone, but there still isn’t anyone close enough to hear us. “Because you seek to grow your career in the human market.”
“Yes,” I say, once again surprised at how well he remembers the things I tell him. I suppose it’s a spy’s job to gather intel and easily recall it.
The furrow between his brow deepens.
“What is it?”
Another group of puca begin the next race, speeding along the track with preternatural grace.
Dante follows the creatures’ progress with his eyes. He leans closer. “It’s just…fae creatures are more sentient than regular animals. They’re people, aren’t they?”
I’m taken aback by the concern in his expression. “That’s strange coming from you. Despite you saying not everyone in Bretton thinks the fae are monsters, I seem to recall you exclaiming my lack of fangs and claws when we first met.”
He chuckles. “I was merely playing a part.”
“You’re saying the real Prince Albert would have responded that way?”
Dante gives a dismissive shrug. Another roar of cheers erupts as the second race ends.
“So my future husband is a buffoon,” I mutter, not intending for my voice to reach Dante’s ears.
No such luck.
He angles his head toward me. “Don’t be too hard on the prince. I admit I too held many uninformed assumptions about faekind, long ago. But as a spy, I’ve gathered much intel about your isle. Being here now, even after such a short time, has taught me much more. He too will learn to see Faerwyvae the way I do. I’m sure of it.”
My muscles coil tight, and a sudden urge to fidget comes over me. My future with Albert is the last thing I want to talk about. So I turn the subject on him. “What’s your surname? I feel like I should know a little more about you. It’s only fair, considering you’ve likely gathered infinite intel on me.”
He hesitates before answering. “I don’t have a surname.”
“Why not?”
“My parents died in a plague that swept Bretton when I was still a baby. I was one of many children brought to the orphanage at the same time. We were lucky to have a roof over our heads. Beds. People to feed us. The nurses and caretakers did their best, but keeping records of every orphaned child’s parentage was simply not manageable at the height of the plague.”
